


Cat and Mouse

by FenixoftheDark



Series: Those Called Legends [3]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Conan is not having a good day, Retelling of episode 43: Conan is Kidnapped, pokemon make things better and worse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenixoftheDark/pseuds/FenixoftheDark
Summary: A what-if the world of the Case Closed franchise mixed with a Pokemon world? How would that have impacted on the Conan is Kidnapped episode?
Series: Those Called Legends [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617193
Kudos: 9





	1. Part One/ ‘You’re not my mother!’

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing in the Case Closed fandom and I hope readers will enjoy the AU. It's set within a larger pokemon AU, though you don't need to know anything about that to enjoy this; all you really need to know is no-one is in Japan. I will admit straight up to being infinitely more familiar with the English version, and have opted to use/mix said names with some characters for in-universe reasons that’ll be explained as the story goes on. If you don't like that, then please, please don’t read.

"That one!" Conan chirped as he pointed to the game just out of his reach. Of all the horrors of being just shy of three feet tall, the law about the placement of pre-owned items up out of the grabbing range of small children when possible had to suck the most. He knew the reason _why_ it was a law made complete sense, and it was the first thing he remembered being taught. Not that he could have been taught anything else. Not when no-one in the Islands wanted a repeat of last century’s ‘Tashigum Vs The Government’ case, which, if his memory served correctly, had been rather nasty and stretched out a good five years before they’d finally ruled in the favour of the Tashigum estate.

A good thing too, if one asked the shrunken detective, even though he never left the house without some kind of psychic shielding up. Though the law hadn’t stopped the accidental traumatisation of young psychometrics, it had made it far less likely to accidentally happen to those who didn’t have the best grasp of shielding in general.

He, on the other hand, knew how to throw up a heavy shield in a split second, and practically lived with low-level shielding daily. It’d been drilled into him and he’d thrived because of it.

Though, that did nothing to mitigate how unfair it was right now! Was he being Dramatic in his own mind? Yes. Did he care? No.

"Are you sure?" Ran asked as she plucked said game off the shelf and blue eyes followed it.

Conan grinned, wide and innocent. She didn’t know - couldn’t know.

"Uh-huh! It’s got Kamen Yaiba on it-" That and it was a simple fighting game where the player ran around as Kamen Yaiba and beat up invading aliens. There was an option to do it as a trainer, of course, but he’d watched Mitch play it at school and thought the route a little too easy and boring.

Then again, they’d designed it with actual six-year-olds in mind. It was, though, arguably better than some pure pokemon trainer games targeted at the age bracket.

"Here, then," Ran offered it over to the shrunken detective. "You want to hold it and pay for it yourself?"

"Uhn!" He nodded with a grin- until bare fingers touched the box and he nearly dropped it in shock. Eyes widened and harsher shields slammed into place, but he’d already gotten a sense of its history from that brief contact. Pre-owned and very much loved with a touch of sadness about it, as if it’d been parted with reluctantly. And now Ran was looking at him worriedly. Oops. "Um- you should hold it."

"Ah! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-" And just like that, the game was out of his hands and Conan breathed a little easier.

"It’s ok," he said with a weak, sheepish smile, as if the lie he was a touch-amplified telepath didn’t kill him inside. But, really, it wasn’t as if he could’ve gone up to Ran and claimed to be a rare type of psychic just like Shinichi was. Yeah, that would have gone over really well and end up blowing his fake identity. No thanks. "Really. I didn’t even get in anyone’s head this time!"

"Really? Well. I guess that means we’ll get ice-cream after, ok?"

"Okay!" Conan said as he tightened his grip on Ran’s hand. As long as it meant they got out of here before he touched something else, or Justice’s Truth forbid, someone else or even a pokemon, he’d take all the coffee flavoured ice cream he could milk this for…

… which ended up a single scoop waffle cone. But it was glorious and the first _legitimate_ caffeine hit in weeks. He’d take his victory where he could.

**-/-/-/-**

"Conan! Are you tuning me out again?"

"Huh?" Conan blinked away from the screen of the game to see Ran standing next to him, arms crossed with the start of a Look on her face. He wilted, just a fraction and gripped the controller tighter, though fingers never stopped tapping the attack action button. ‘Y’, in this case. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to."

Judging from her sigh and shall head shake, that’d only partially mollified his childhood friend. "Your parents. I was asking if you missed them?"

"No?" Conan said with a small blink even as he hit the pause button on the game. It wouldn’t do to lose his streak because he’d gotten distracted from the strategy he’d had going.

"Really?" Ran asked and Conan pulled back at the heat in that Look. He had a feeling where this was going and it was better to let Ran have her say than interrupt. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago. "As soon as they got out of the hospital, they went overseas with only a phone-call to let you know. Aren’t you lonely?"

Conan turned back to his now unpaused game with a slight shrug. How could he be when he had everything he wanted with him? Ran, her father, the pokemon they had. Sure, he missed a great many things about being a teenager, including people not dismissing him or treating him like a sack of flour, and what few friends he’d had, yet he also didn’t miss being the butt of Kuroba’s pranks or switcheroo’s. Nor did he miss Kuroba and Sonoko’s fanpersoning over that reborn Phantom Thief, KID. A Phantom Thief was still criminal in the end, and he wasn’t jealous he didn’t have one.

He would, eventually, though not as Conan. Shinichi was a _Detective Heir_ and they _always_ had one, yet still- that none of the Phantom Clans had ‘claimed’ Shinichi was worrying, even if his father had said to give it time. That, he could -would- do when they likely thought him too young or whatever their weird honour code said. But as Conan he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

As Shinichi he hated it. 

Though, claimed by a Phantom Clan or not, he really could have done without knowing about Kuroba’s dramatic week of moping. Moping over, of all things, the loss of his favoured pranking target -outside the Hakuba Heir- when Shinichi had ‘gone undercover for Detective Things’. "Not really. I’ve got you and Mycroft and the other pokemon-"

"Conan..."

"It’s true though," he shot back indignantly. "Even if she has to stay in her pokeball most of the time!"

For two perfectly reasonable and logical reasons: One was Ran wasn’t that big of a fan of ghost-types, and the other because of school rules; never mind he knew many of the older students flaunted that rule outside practical lessons and the Clan children (mostly the heirs) had made it a game to get them caught. But it was a minor sacrifice and easier than explaining why he knew how to actually train a ghost-type. Not even ‘I saw it on tv’ would cut it, not when Agasa’d implied Conan’s parents owned none.

"A pokemon’s not a substitute..." Ran said hesitantly and unhappily with the answer.

"Of course she is!" He said childishly, shoulders hunched a little as he turned back to the game to continue his win streak. "And I’ve got _you_!"

"Look, kid," Richard said, nose still deep in the Beikoda Weekend Times (likely the Yoko Okino special). "You’re no dummy; I wouldn’t want to live without me either, but you’re gonna have to go back to your real parents at some point."

"Awww..." Conan pouted, gaze firmly on the screen as he racked his mind for anything to say to get them off the topic, that surprise surprise, given how slow it’d been the last two weeks outside the few Dead Bodies he’d tripped over, had come up yet again. Maybe he could bring up wanting to go to one of the indoor training areas and ‘get to know Mycroft’ some more. Though, he had a feeling that’d just result in him feeding her more berries than any actual training again.

He must have been thinking too long though -or zoned out, because Richard’s voice cut into his thoughts. "-surprise lined up for Conan?"

"Yeah," Ran said brightly enough that Conan turned away from his game yet again to stare at her.

"Huh?" Surprise? What surprise? He thought going to get the game yesterday afternoon had been a surprise enough? "What do you mean?"

"Look, if you’re not interested in living with your real parents," Richard started and Conan didn’t miss the emphasis on ‘real parents’. "Maybe we should start shopping around for a good orphanage that’d take you in."

"No!" Conan waved his hands in front of his face to underline the denial. Justice, they couldn’t be serious! "I’ll have Dr. Agasa call them-"

The ding of the doorbell cut him off, as did Ran’s ‘coming’ as she hurried over. The same with Richard leaning in with perhaps the most deadpan of expressions Conan had ever seen on the man. "Ok kid, don’t think I’m not onto you."

Conan mentally rolled his eyes as Richard meandered over to the door. Sure the man was; he couldn’t think his way out of a paper bag if it had air holes. Couldn’t they just let him play video games?! This was one of the few he _was_ good at!

"You must be Ran. I’m Fanny Edogawa," a woman’s voice, a touch sweet, said, and Conan hastily paused the game while still looking like he was playing it. He doubted it was anything major, but Edogawa wasn’t a common family name on the Islands or even up in the Seviis. He wasn’t sure if it was in Yamatai though, and ‘Fanny’ had a faint accent that hinted at a continental ancestry. The same with her given name, though that seemed more Eselian than Yamatan. "We spoke yesterday."

"Conan, come quick, your surprise is here!"

"Eeh?" Conan knew his head whipped around at the excitement in Ran’s voice, even as he jumped off the chair and came around the desk. The first thing that caught his attention about the visitor was the slight tint to her glasses. It was the kind of tint that denoted sunglasses, or glasses designed to throw off the shade of her blue eyes. Possible Darkened...? No. The green vested, black - _shiny_ , his mind automatically supplied- greninja behind her was an assistance monster that hinted she was possibly a psychic; a rich one if she had a shiny. It wasn’t even acting when he smiled curiously at them all. "What is it?"

Ran beamed brightly. "Your mother’s here for you, Conan!"

"Eh?!" _Say what?!_ Conan stared wide-eyed and disbelieving at the sweetly smiling, portly woman dressed in a purple shirt and orange cravat with hints of pokemon fur -purugly, maril and castform- and a ‘belt with three, generic red-white pokeballs with enough wear-and-tear to suggest she occasionally street-battled in some form. "W-what?"

"Look how much you’ve grown!" The woman gushed and Conan blinked up at her. "Why, you’re so big I hardly recognise you," Fanny continued, and the hairs on the back of Conan’s neck prickled as an unwanted telepathic presence brushed his mind. Shields slammed up a split second later and Conan backed up a step. Not that deterred the approach of the woman, who looked- hurt and disappointed, as if she hadn’t just tried to invade his mind. "Aww, come here, dear. Mummy’d like a big hug."

 _What?_ Conan took a half step back again, fingers itching for a dial on shoes he wasn’t wearing. This woman wasn’t much taller than Ran, but he-

He blinked, and the woman had him in a gigantic bear hug that -was close enough to smell the sea on her, to know the lilac pants were synthetic and tailored, as was the jacket in her arms. Her shoes were feraligatr leather- and all but pinned him against her. Not good. Not what he wanted-!

Adrenaline surged as he shoved back and startled her enough that he could break free and jump back a few steps.

"Get back! _Who are you?!_ " He yelled, putting as much indignation into his voice as possible hoping that maybe if he created a good distraction, he could probably make it to where Conan’s pokebelt hung next to Shinichi’s-

"Conan? What’s wrong?" Ran asked, and Conan’s head whipped around to stare at her as betrayal flashed through his eyes. No no _no_ \- Yet as he opened his mouth to declare ‘Fanny’ a fake, the telepathic touch returned, this time less a touch and more a heavy, hard knock against his shields.

 _Shit_. That was a warning if ever there was one against that idea. He also abandoned the idea of grabbing a pokeball, if only because this woman was a telepath. He could hold against a mental assault no problem, and Richard’s shields weren’t half bad, but Ran… She didn’t have that kind of training and her medicham was in its friendball in her room-

Tiny hands fisted in helpless fury and nails bit into skin. Damn it-

"Yeah, kid," said adult spoke up and Conan wanted to scream, yet all that came out was a strangled and choked ‘huh?!’. "If it was your father I’d understand-"

Conan opened his mouth again, but Fanny, if that was even her name, cut him off, voice calm and soothing as any mother’s would be. No. As any woman’s when trying to keep control of a situation that could very easily spiral out of control and- eyes slid to where Wattson’s ‘ball hung, but another brush-knock against his shields reminded him of his situation. "It’s okay. I kind of expected this to happen- I’ve changed a lot since the accident."

His breath hitched and something cold and unwanted landed in his gut. Fake or not, she knew the lie- and the greninja’s stance had subtly changed in how it was now paying a great deal of attention to Ran ( _no, no, no_ -) and how Richard didn’t notice was beyond Conan, but maybe the man had been taken in by the fact his ‘mother’ was rich. Damn it-

No. ‘Fanny’ had to be in their minds already and if she could get into them without Richard knowing at least, then just how powerful of a telepath was he dealing with here?

"I’ve put on a great deal of weight," Fanny continued with a sad smile as she looked -stared/glared and maybe he was reading too much into this- no, he wasn’t- down at Conan before she held out a business card to Richard with another fake, sweet smile.

 _Definitely in their minds! I’m going to need to get something to protect them_ -

"Call anytime. I know Conan’s grown quite fond of you and I’d like this transition to go as smoothly as possible."

He didn’t miss the subtle emphasis on the words and that thing in his stomach now seemed as heavy as steel and cold as ice. If he didn’t play along as she wanted, she’d likely hurt Ran and Richard. No, from the way the greninja stood, she planned on it, and that wasn’t counting the damage that could be done in other ways.

"I’ll get my stuff," Conan said, not quite sure how he managed the cheer though he didn’t protest when his ‘mother’ only took his -Conan’s- pokebelt. This was his ‘mother’ after all- Wait. No. For all Mycroft was his, she had been legally registered to-

"Ah-! That’s registered to Dr. Agasa because I couldn’t get a hold of you in time!" He said in some last-ditch attempt to leave the pokemon with the Moore’s, only to wilt under the woman’s genial -fake- smile.

"Not to worry, I’ve already taken care of the paperwork."

"Oh." Conan whispered as he allowed his ‘mother’ to take his hand while they gathered the rest of his belongings. There went his last conceivable avenue of escape and he didn’t have a leg to stand on, period, for taking Shinichi’s pokemon with him. Not only would Ran not allow it, neither would Richard, and the woman most certainly wouldn’t.

And asking to hold Mycroft’s ‘ball would likely earn his shield another telepathic knock, or maybe end up in Ran having her mind- _no_. Better to play along, play the child, possibly be a brat if he could, and wait until the woman didn’t have hostages before he confronted her.

At the very least, he didn’t have much to pack and the single time his mother allowed him away from her, it was briefly to get his spare school uniforms and Jimmy’s phone wasn’t in them. It was in the already packed coat and Ran had already handed over Conan’s to the woman, who’d put it in his bag. If he survived this, he was either buying an Escape Rope, or asking for a teleporter. Both, if he could swing it.

And then they were out the door and down the steps -greninja following via the wall, and only just before they stepped out into the cold snowy winter streets was the monster recalled, the ‘ball clipped back to the belt with an ease that screamed ‘Professional Trainer’. Conan mentally cursed, even as he breathed a little easier, but he didn’t dare try to pull away as he was led -dragged, complete with childish, bratty pout- out into the cold and over to a waiting car that was the smaller, two-seater with little back seat kind that screamed Sevii Islands design- "Awww. Why the boot?"

"There isn’t enough room for both you and the bags in the front, dear," Fanny said as she loaded the bag, his school bag and pokebelt with attached ‘ball into the boot before shutting it. The sound seemed so final, but he wasn’t given a chance to protest as he was tugged to the passenger side and bundled into the car.

"I’ll miss you, Conan. Call when you get home, ok?" Ran said, and Conan offered her what he hoped was a bright smile.

"I’ll try to, I promise!" Yet as chirped as the words were, the promise tasted sour, bitter and like ashen soap. Oh, he didn’t doubt he’d call her, but it would probably be as a puppet in his own body. He had to sleep at some point after all, and the common, public perception of telepathy didn’t cover everything a skilled telepath could do. And that was assuming she was just a telepath.

Ran nodded, a picture of innocence, and Conan wished he could have said more, done more. Wished he could be sure that the karate champion was actually herself and not some puppet. "Ok! Have a safe trip home!"

If he’d thought the boot’s closure was final, it was nothing compared to the slam the car door seemed to make. Fear tugged his heart, and he scrambled up onto his knees, one hand braced against the cold of the glass. It did nothing to allay his fears when he realised he couldn’t hear what they said, and without power, he couldn’t get the window down. All he could do was look on with worried eyes, knowing that if he tried to get out, the woman would know and it’d put Ran and Richard at risk.

He couldn’t do that. Not now, not ever, and when Ran waved at him, all he could do was wave sadly back, only slumping down when the driver’s door opened, and while Fanny put her seatbelt on, Conan didn’t. He wasn’t sure the seatbelt hadn’t been tampered with, but given the car didn’t have child-locks, it probably had been and he couldn’t take that chance. Not if he wanted to escape and get to the nearest ‘centre and trigger a recall of Mycroft’s ‘ball into the Storage System. Though, that he didn’t put the seatbelt on didn’t seem to deter the woman as they drove off. Small mercies, that.

Only once it seemed they were a safe distance away from the Moore Detective Agency, did he whirl on her, eyes blazing and narrowed. "All right, lady. Who are you?"

"What do you mean? I’m your mother," Fanny said, eyes never leaving the road. "Come now, Conan, show some respect."

Conan tensed at the deeper, darker tone, but when nothing came of it – no mental knocks, at least- he glared up at his kidnapper, conviction ringing in his voice. "You’re _not_ my mother. _My_ mother is-"

"Vivian Kudō, stage name Yukiko?" The shrunken boy froze, eyes wide, and Fanny’s smile seemed all the more sinister and foreboding. Conan swallowed as the sinking feeling he’d just fallen into a trap tickled his mind. "Yes, I know all about your dear mother."

"Oh really?" He tried in his best know-it-all bratty tone. If nothing else, the kids in his class had been perfect teachers for that. "Kudo’s a common name in the Islands!"

 _Kudō_ , on the other hand, was the main branch of an Eastern Detective Clan.

"At the age of 19, she was considered to be the most beautiful actress in the country, and was winning all kinds of prestigious acting awards when she met a young novelist by the name of Yūsaku Kudō. The two fell in love and were married. She then immediately retired and disappeared from the public eye."

"And?" Conan pressed, if only to keep the growing fear at bay.

"They moved aboard and Yūsaku Kudō became a famous mystery writer," Fanny said, and Conan wondered if this was her natural voice now. Something dark and sinister. "The young couple only had one child." Conan didn’t miss the way Fanny’s eyes narrowed as they pulled up at a crosswalk. "A son, who still lives in this country. Isn’t that right, Shinichi, or should I say, _Jimmy_?"

Fanny’s smile was cold and from the way it curved after a second, Conan knew he’d blanched white. She knew _who_ he was, knew his mother’s _actual_ name, _knew his private nickname_ and likely knew a great more she wasn’t telling him. He’d walked into the trap willingly, and now he thought about it, the black greninja should have tipped him off. The woman had to be working with those men in black, who’d figured out the poison hadn’t worked.

Fanny was someone sent in to clean up the mess, but he couldn’t allow it-

The cold steel of a gun settled between his eyes. "Don’t even think about it."

"You wouldn’t-" Blue eyes widened as terror sunk its claws into his mind. "I’m just-"

Her smile wasn’t nice. "Why don’t you just sit back and relax and let mummy take you somewhere special, dear. This won’t hurt a bit, I promise."

He could have laughed. Instead, he surged forward, knocked the gun from her hand into the back seat and then shoved his foot onto the accelerator. The car shot forward several metres before he slammed on the brake. The sudden halt saw Fanny face plant into the steering wheel, and Conan took that chance, threw open the door and bolted out as fast as he possibly could onto the street and used the chaos of cars, people, and pokemon to hide while he gained precious, precious distance. Distantly, he heard Fanny’s shriek of anger, but he ignored it as he buried himself in his anti-kidnap-with-no-pokemon training and vanished into the first alley he could.

He didn’t stop until he was at least three turns away from the road and by then he was breathing heavily and cursing his tiny body. Even the first touch of the ice-cold bricks had him yelp, but he ignored it the second time. It was a welcome reminder he was alive, and this wasn’t some dying dream. Yet, it still could be if he wasn’t careful and he couldn’t afford not to be any more.

Not when he was certain it was that case he’d solved at a karaoke bar where he’d used his legal name to solve it. That had to have been what tipped the men in black off to the fact he, Shinichi ‘Jimmy’ Kudo was still alive.

At least Magnum wouldn’t work without him around, but that didn’t mean he liked leaving the Rotomi behind, least of all because both it and the limited edition casing had been a birthday gift from his parents.

_Damnit. I even told the Inspector not to use my name. I should have known better... Gods of the Islands, what have I done..._

"Ah..." Got himself into a mess he now had to get himself out of. He couldn’t go back to the Agency without putting both Ran and Richard in danger and that wasn’t something he could condone, now or ever. But, he couldn’t stay here, either. He needed to either get home to his secondary laptop, or get to Beikoda’s main Pokemon Centre, and recall Mycroft into the System, then pull her out.

Then he’d start on her training for real once he was holed up with Agasa while he waited for the danger to pass. He’d have to insist on wearing the ‘belt at all times and on a child his size, the size of a pokeball stood out. Not the best plan in the world, but, well. He’d start that fire when he got to it, and at any rate, the longer he was out in this weather, the less clear his thinking would become, _and_ he risked more than just a cold if he was without a monster for protection.

 _Ice gods protect me_ , Conan thought as he trudged on through the falling snow and passed a pinap-nosed snowman, eyes alert and peeled for any wild ice-types that might have penetrated this far into the central city. As low as the chance was, running across them without even a literal baby ghost to defend himself wasn’t on his to-do-list, ever.

He should have kicked up a fuss and demanded to hold Mycroft’s pokeball. At least then he’d feel safer-

Eerie laughter drifted on the wind. Faint, but there was no mistaking it. Not when he distinctly remembered it from one of the first memories of the rare times his parents were completely serious, telling him to be silent, to be brave for them. To be silent as eerie, eerie laughter rang out through the small ski camp.

He remembered his mother heading out, back straight with her ninetales and houndoom at her side, while his father stayed with him, hand over his mouth, carbink floating in front of them.

Shinichi -Conan- swallowed and shoved back the memory. Now was not the time and his parents weren’t here to protect him from this.

From the hunting ice-witch. Froslass. The stuff of an Island winter nightmare and-

" _Damn it!_ " He couldn’t afford to let memory grab him now, not when he didn’t know where the froslass was, or how close it could be. It could be right behind him (please no, he didn’t want to end up like _that_ -), it could be two kilometres away, but everyone knew the laugh carried for at least that distance.

Someone, be it human or not, would die (or end up maimed) and Conan _refused_ to be that soul.

He broke into a run and didn’t look back.

**-/-/-/-**

"What, he got away?" A man's voice rumbled in the darkness of the room, a touch displeased and annoyed.

"Yes, it was carelessness on my part," Fanny said, and through the phone, the man could hear the faint chime of the woman's chimecho in the background. Likely pulling itself out from wherever she’d hidden the creature. "But there's no mistake about it- this little boy is definitely Shinichi 'Jimmy' Kudō."

"I see," the man said with an amused chuckle as he relaxed back into the chair, tophat shadowing his face even further. "The poison must have reversed the aging process somehow."

"So it would seem. He did try and distract with the Kudo verse Kudō, though."

"To be expected of an Heir," the man said, a touch of a snort in his voice. "Yet, as fascinating this is, we need to find him before he goes to the police. We don't want this to get messy or the Clans involved."

He didn't have to see it to know Fanny had nodded. Clan involvement was to be avoided at all costs. "Where would he go?"

"Don't worry." A cool smile graced his face. "I've got a good idea of where he's headed..."


	2. Part Two - 'Bad luck believes in me'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a great deal of fun writing this chapter :3c, even if it ended up taking longer than I thought. That said, there are pokemon mentioned by nickname but it shouldn't be too confusing. 
> 
> There's also some cultural notes at the end for those interested in the stuff.

Mental shields slammed into place as eyes cracked open into darkness and a split second later, Conan realised he wasn't gagged.

_Useful if I actually need to scream. Assuming one'd be heard._

Sharp eyes flicked about, nevermind how hair fell in them. He'd coped with worse than lightly obscured vision. A dark room with a worn-out old door, pockmarked in places by light as it came through cracks and holes. Not ideal but bearings first then deal with it, especially when his last memory was waiting for Agasa, only to be ambushed from behind. He was on his side, his shoulder ached, and his head rested against something hard. It wasn't tiling, but he couldn't quite place what it was yet.

At least it wasn't concrete; he'd never enjoyed waking up to that, even as a child. Nor was he blindfolded; but was that a good sign? Maybe, maybe not. Whatever it was a sign of, the floor was hard with a dirty, itchy, threadbare mat over it. Though, he'd take concrete, blindfolds, and gags over what was to come.

 _Death_ , not ransom, and like when he'd been fed the poison, They didn't care he was the Kudō Clan Heir, and Conan knew he should be grateful given the stories he'd heard from other Heirs over the years, but it didn't lessen the sting to his pride any.

He was worth more alive than dead, especially as the sole Heir.

Yet, indignant and chilled thoughts or not, his breaths remained level and measured as if still asleep. Grandmother would have been proud, even if it'd taken sixteen years to turn all those potential kidnappings into a real one.

_It had better not be the start of a trend either!_

An experimental shift revealed the rope dug into his arms and torso tight enough to bruise, likely by design, yet his legs were free at least. Even sneakers remained on feet, and a gengar-worthy smirk split his face as he rolled over onto his back. Their first mistake. Wait. No. Not just a rope. Two sets, one around his shoulders and torso and the other bound crossed wrists. Interesting, but training told how to deal with that.

Well, provided he found something in the room- no. It was an old kitchen. An old, filthy one, abandoned several years ago at least. It didn't smell too bad, indicating the place had been reasonably cleaned out prior to abandonment.

Or, he thought, wild pokemon had made it their home and given They'd gotten their hands on him and this place, they were likely dead. Dead or captured and on the black market.

Shinichi hoped they were dead. At least then they'd avoid the abuse criminals would put them through. Or worse yet, headed for the illegal side of the exotic trade.

It was a moot point regardless. Gingerly, he sat up and promptly swallowed back another groan. All the 'shielding in the world wouldn't change how his vision spun, and the shadows twisted as if possessed by some errant ghost-type. False, of course. The chill would have been felt by now. Nor was there any time to lose on what his vision was doing. A blink or two cleared it, and then Conan jumped to his feet, spun around, jump-climbed up onto the bench- and narrowly missed the sink.

Depth perception was off -or lagging at least. Paras or morelull spores mixed in then? Didn't matter. It'd pass soon enough and while the window was closed, it could probably be pried open.

_It's- How long have I been out!?_

The shadows of night danced across a star-struck sky, and the moonlight only added to it, with the smaller of the pair a bright waning gibbous, while the larger was but a waxing crescent in the sky; a reminder of the Twins from the start of the month. A reminder of how he -Shinichi- had spoken to Ran. Conan forced his gaze from the moons, but the Blue Star wasn't visible from this angle. Though, given the sparse cloud cover, it was just as likely hidden by the dark, silvery clouds as it was visible.

More importantly, he was on the second floor of the house in a nondescript neighbourhood. Neither rich nor poor. Average, snow-filled and nowhere near his neighbourhood.

Hopefully Agasa was none-the-wiser to this.

"-What? You haven't killed him yet?" Came a disgruntled voice, and Conan's head whipped towards the door. _Shit_. That sounded far too close for comfort and far too much like this person -male?- was in charge, not the woman.

_Wonderful._

"I can't do that!" Female. 'Fanny Edogawa'. At least she'd used her real voice when she'd kidnapped him from the Moore's. More than that, she was talking to someone, and Conan used the reply -a deep 'And why not?'- to shimmy down from the counter as soundlessly as possible, then tip-toe toward the door and the largest crack in it.

Barely large enough to peer through, but it'd have to do.

"Those orders from above said not to!" Fanny said, and Conan hoped she was in charge.

 _They want me alive..._ The thought rattled his brain as he peered through the crack. He knew he should take the risk and jump through the window, trusting the snow outside was deep enough, but he wasn't a teenager anymore. A fall from that height, no matter how controlled, could mean broken bones, if not death.

Better to not tempt Fate's dragline unless there was no other choice.

Fanny and a man -or a tall, androgynous person- in a black great-cloak with equally black tophat -Ferrum make, probably three decades out of style- stood not far away with their back to the door. The cloak very likely hid the trench coat and any and all pokeballs on them. Or, this person was of a different rank than the two who'd given him the drug, and it wasn't unheard of for the criminal world to use clothing in such a way. Nor could Conan see any inkling of pokemon with them. Though that didn't mean there wasn't one in the blind spots, and the person seemed large enough that the view of a small psychic-type like chingling or solosis could be blocked.

Either way, Fanny's attention was solely on them. No. On her displeased superior, if their head tilt was any tell, and if the deep voice was any clue, male. Or at least male-bodied, and Conan felt ice crawl into his veins and settle there. He blinked and tried to make it not to be so, but it was.

As ridiculous as the notion was, it was as if Luck merely laughed at him as it cavorted around the Springpole with Truth, while Fate watched on impassively as they wove his web anew.

In a word: his life sucked. At least They wanted him alive-

"We're supposed," Fanny said mulishly, "to take him back as a special specimen of the drug's side effects."

-to do that and, when the man grudgingly harrumphed an agreement or at least confirmation at the reminder of orders, Conan - _Shinichi_ \- dutifully added 'kicked the wrong magikarp' to his mental list of what was going _spectacularly_ wrong in his life.

This man was likely at least Administrator or Executive tier, assuming They operated like standard underworld organisations, and Conan shifted closer, ears pricked for any more information he might gain. That could be useful if he wanted even a sliver of a fraction of a chance to escape this alive.

Something must have given him away.

The man turned and revealed what was easily the most disturbing mask Conan'd ever seen. Carved bone (or very polished rock? Hard to tell. It didn't look paper-based or 3d printed-) with glowing blue eyes -embedded psychic-based tech- and a wicked grin that reached for the centre of the cold, frozen eyes, the corners painted like a mockery of a Backalley Grin.

The man's steps betrayed his shoes as the military-grade kind used in the Islands Naval Forces and favoured as the all-weather hiking boot of civilians, yet that wasn't the gait of a civilian. It was the gait of an ex-officer.

_Shit- Abort-_

Conan honestly couldn't tell you how he got back to laying docile and 'asleep' on that threadbare, itchy rug. Only that he did, that even though he knew damn well Truth and all the other handful of Gods he followed were species of very powerful pokemon, he still prayed to them with every fibre in his tiny body.

That not only did They believe he was still unconscious, that They didn't get into his mind; no unconscious person ever had mental shields. Not unless linked to a psychic-type and Marple was in her 'ball at the Moore's, and Ran wouldn't even know to have the espeon or even Callali out. Nevermind looking to make a connection with him.

Assuming he was still on Mandarin Island and not another of the nearby islands.

Ha... he was screwed. So, so screwed, and he hadn't even kissed Ran. Or told her he returned her feelings and very much liked her as more than a friend.

"Did that boy wake up?"

"No," -and Gods if the man didn't sound Right There at the crack- "it looks like the sleeping drug's still in effect. But, is that really the teenage Detective Kudō Shinichi?"

_Of course I am!_

"I can't believe it either," Fanny said, and Conan got the impression of an eye roll. "But the day Jimmy disappeared-"

His skin crawled at the rudely familiar and far to disrespectful tone. She should be using Kudō or Shinichi, not his nickname! Or better yet and wholy more appropriate, Kudō-kun. Archaic and Clan-speak as the honorific was, it was still a damn sight more respectful to one of his status, and that wasn't taking into account how far back the Clan could trace its roots. Yamatai. Kantō; the central region at least.

"-boy appeared at the Moore detective agency are the same."

"How true," the man all but purred as his footsteps presumably returned him to Fanny's side. "All the mysteries that have occurred around him have somehow been solved as well."

"And, most damning of all," Fanny stated, and Conan swallowed. He didn't like where this was going- "Jimmy's monsters, including that houndoom of his -his Starter-, listen to the boy as if he were Jimmy himself."

Forget the overly familar use of his nickname, Conan swore his heart stopped and he forgot how to breathe. _How_ in the Orbit of the Blue Star, did they know Wattson was his Starter? Had they looked back through Teitan's records and the footage of the opening ceremony and Starter Presentation that'd circulated the Islands, given the sheer notoriety of his class? Likely, and if so, this was a test.

_They wanted proof he was awake._

He would not -could not- give it to Them. Yet, of all the things to tip Them off, it was his pokemon? He thought he'd had everything better covered; pre-trained pokemon belonging to parents or older siblings or cousins in a child's hand was a common thing.

No. It couldn't have been that, meaning he'd slipped up some other way. Rain lightning into the depths of Shamouti Trench, that would have to be fixed -and a small, hysterical part was grateful his grandmother was years dead. Soap-sap with ash-salts as a mouthwash wasn't pleasant, and then she'd have dragged him to the nearest temple of Lugia.

Not shrine, but temple.

"All the more reason to be grateful to Luck itself they were left behind," the man mused wryly, and Conan had to fight not to snort. Grateful to luck? If They knew this much about him, they'd planned it! "Now, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, yes?"

An eye twitched, but it _was_ one of Jon Wattson's more famous quotes, alongside Holmes' 'No shit, Wattson.'

"Instead of dying-" Conan could practically hear Fanny's nod in her words. "-he became a child as a side effect of the syndicate's newly developed drug."

Blue eyes narrowed, and distantly, Conan was aware of the jaw ache and taste of blood, but it was nothing that couldn't be dealt with later. If this wasn't Them, then who - not the Rockets. They weren't active on the Islands. Cipher was possible, though Conan doubted it; the Orren police had, just last year, finally smoked the last dregs out of hiding. That left a new crime gang or rogue elements of Them.

Or both with a not-zero chance Cipher was in on it too.

He wasn't sure which option he liked better; they all ended in Death, one likely more painful than the other.

The man chuckled, and something about it tugged at his brain, but not enough to jog a memory. "Then maybe I'll try that drug on someone too."

"Try it on someone?" Fanny unknowingly gave voice to his thoughts.

"Empirical proof." The man said, and there was a rustle of fabric as something was pulled out. A click signified a case of some sort had opened. "I do have some of the drug."

_What-?!_

"But who to test it on?" Fanny asked slowly, sounding far less alarmed than Conan himself was, but also not entirely on board with the idea.

Was it possible she was the one in charge, not the man?

"The one we're going to make that deal with tomorrow." Conan could literally hear the shrug in the man's voice. "The syndicate plans to kill them after the deal anyway, so it's the perfect chance."

There was a frown in Fanny's voice, meaning she'd likely crossed her arms too. "What if this turns them into a child?"

"First, we'll kill them, then we'll finish off the little boy here."

"But I told you," Fanny hissed darkly as the case snapped shut. "Our orders are to take him back alive so they can study the drug's side effects."

"Hmph. I'm not the kind who allows anyone to live who knows the syndicate's secrets."

"But-" Fanny started, but a gun's safety clicked off, and her protest died a silent, unheard death at the back of her throat. Nor did Conan have to think too hard to piece together what just happened. Tophat was not only in charge of this operation, but Fanny was expendable enough to pull a gun on the woman.

A gun. Not a monster, but a _gun._

The absolute worst kind of criminal; at least with monsters, one knew they simply followed orders or acted on instinct. The _willingness_ to use a gun, on the other hand, told Conan this man was aggressive, prone to dirtying his own hands and very likely unable to fit into society, or very poor at hiding it if they did. Add in a distinct lack of morals or empathy...

Conan dry swallowed, not afraid to admit he wanted his parents then and there.

"This is the way I do things. If you have any problems with it, then I guess I'll be disposing of an extra body."

To threaten someone's life like it was the weather... Sociopath, at least.

"I understand," Fanny grated out, and after a few, very long seconds, Conan heard the safety click back on as the man re-holstered it.

That meant absolutely nothing.

"Good. So, did you tell them where we'd meet tomorrow?" The man said.

"With the usual method and confirmed it for nine," Fanny said as the pair's steps took them further away and as such, Conan didn't quite catch the man's reply. But, it likely wasn't important, and an hour was better than having nothing to work with, no matter how much he wanted to know what the 'usual method' was, or if there was anything he could use to break the rope, he dared not risk drawing attention to himself.

With a silent, bitter exhale, Conan resigned himself to playing (an uncomfortable) komala for the next few hours at least.

**-/-/-/-**

_I drifted off instead,_ Conan deadpanned as shields once again slammed into place. Lingering effects of the sleeping drug? Probably. Did it matter? No. He didn't have time to consider that angle as he blinked, carefully sat up, then stood. He needed to escape, or at least make it look like he had.

It was still dark, and the house was silent and seemingly devoid of life. Even the light from the other room was gone, but Conan didn't doubt the pair of Them were still around. Yet, did he dare take the risk and look through the crack when logic and reality said an alarm 'mon should've been left out, but criminals weren't known to adhere to logic—especially not when, rundown and abandoned or not, the house was still part of a neighbourhood.

Conan swallowed as he eyed the door and its crack. He had to take the risk; were They were sleeping or had they merely dulled the lights in an attempt to catch him off guard.

Draglines of Fate be kind... With a steadying breath, he once again tip-toed up to it and peered through.

 _Good, sleeping, with no pokemon in sight. Idiots._ Conan thought as he eyed the pair and mentally catalogued the positions and shadows, though all that confirmed was a lack of monsters out. Stupid fools, the both of them. Yet it worked in his favour. Fanny slept wrapped in a blanket in a chair while the man had rudely taken the couch when, by rights, it should have gone to her. Perhaps he was from Eselia? Conan'd heard some of the continent had interesting views, but no. That didn't match; the man spoke Orenjin without a hint of an accent, unlike Fanny. It could be a power play-

He forcibly wrenched his mind back to the now and backed away from the crack with a silent exhale. Then another as he turned his attention to the matter at hand: escape, and another look over the kitchen with a critical eye revealed a wine bottle; a local red, from the shape of it.

Perfect.

It took some doing to get the half-full bottle wrapped into the mat, but at the same time, it felt good to put skills to use in ways that didn't involve pokemon. Yet Conan still wished he had a monster on him. Sherlock, given how small the zigzagoon was, but Mycroft would-

His heart skipped a beat. No. The chill would give her away. More than that, she was a baby ghost-type and not as trained as he'd have liked. He had to believe she was safe in her 'ball, and with that thought, he swung the bottle against the corner of the cupboard wall. Blood chilled as the muffled sound of broken glass reached his ears, followed by the faint sound of the bottle as he set it down.

_Gods of the Islands-_

Every breath and heartbeat too loud with an age between each in the silence that followed, as if time itself had stretched and slowed. Ears strained to pick up the telltale signs someone was coming to investigate, yet they heard nothing. Even so, his heart pounded in his ears and his mouth dried as he unwrapped the now wine-stained mat and revealed the broken bottle.

 _Let the dragline remain untouched,_ Conan thought with a thick swallow that did nothing to stop the churning stomach or sweaty palms as he slowly, carefully freed himself from the ropes, doing his best to ensure they fell away without a sound. Not that he had time to appreciate how good it felt to stretch. Every second counted, and he vaulted back up onto the bench.

Even that sounded far too loud. _Damnit._

Another steadying breath and he looked out the window; promptly dismissed it and the rope. Even if the sink tap would hold his weight, he'd have to pry the window open, and that would alert Them for certain. He'd have to hide, and he didn't like the idea of the fridge. Too obvious, but it was his only choice.

With a silent, bitter and resigned grimace, he slid down, wincing at the slight thud. Hopefully, that and the dripping didn't-

Wait, dripping? The wine bottle. Of course! It'd been half-full, and if the mat was dripping, that meant-

A toothy grin split his face as his heart soared, and silently, Conan got to work.

**-/-/-/-**

Mental shields slammed into place yet again (he was going to have the worst headache after this-), and Conan dared not breathe.

"What, the kid disappeared?"

Not when they sounded right above him. Both of them and the faint sounds of a pokemon that was probably slaved to Fanny. He put the poor thing out of mind; there was nothing he could do about it, and trying to identify it when he was without a monster of his own to combat it was foolish.

"When I woke up, the room was empty! He probably jumped out from the window and used the snow as a cushion."

 _I know better than that!_ Conan grumped, yet it didn't ease the knot in his gut as the pair walked around, no doubt casing the room for him, though Fanny's seemed to recede somewhat and the man's stopped after a few seconds.

"What are you doing?" the woman demanded, and Conan had to applaud her audacity, even if he wished he knew what was going on above his bolthole.

"He's still here."

Blood froze as blue eyes widened and shoulders crawled to ears in an effort to halt fine tremors. No no no- Gods of Fate and Life-

"What? Are you certain-?"

It was illogical to pray to the Gods for help when they were pokemon, not all-powerful beings. Yet he prayed. Prayed and promised he'd visit the Grand Temple-Shrine and leave offerings if he got out of this alive.

"He made it look like he escaped," the man said, and Conan was certain the faint praise was his imagination. "Then planned to wait for us to leave."

 _No shit, Wattson,_ yet the imagined praise did nothing to dislodge the fear as the man moved, footsteps slow, measured -again, something tugged his memory, but again, he pushed it away. Now was not the time for a trip down memory lane- and Conan could picture the sadistic gengar-grin. There was the faintest of a fabric rustle -the gun being drawn- before he yanked the fridge door open.

"Looks like your hunch was wrong," Fanny said with a scoff, and Conan had to hope that scoff hid his relieved exhale.

"Hrmph. It's not like he has anywhere to run to."

"I suppose," Fanny said, and Conan clamped hands over his mouth to keep from shouting that he did to have plenty of places to go!

"After we finish the deal, we'll find the kid and kill him," the man said, and Conan was sure there was a shrug to match the talking-about-the-weather tone, even as the pair and their pokemon receded.

Conan waited until he heard the door shut, then counted to sixty, twice, just to be certain They were gone. Even then he was careful as he pushed open the floor safe's door, and didn't relax until he saw tyre tracks in the snow. He hit the floor with a thump, yet even as he shook and desperately wanted to catch his breath and relax, he forced himself to move and start searching the place.

There was only an hour and a half if the sun's position was any hint and he needed to find the drug. To find anything that might give so much of a hint as to where They were headed. There was the calendar, but that was years old, and he couldn't see any obvious marks on it.

If he came up with nothing at all, he'd look closer at it.

He knew They'd taken the drug with Them. Leaving it laying around was asking for trouble, and the man wasn't the kind to leave it lying around anyway. Yet it didn't stop the search. Nor did it dull the hope in his heart as, middle feel search under the couch, his hand brushed against plastic.

"Please-" with a grunt he pulled the plastic, no, rubber case out from under the couch. Eyes widened. "No way..."

They'd taken Magnum and left the rotomi's case behind?!

Even as hands curled around the limited edition thing and rubber gave way easily, tears pricked his eyes. Conan wasn't sure if he should be happy they didn't know how much the mega-sharpedo case was worth or upset they'd not only gone through his things, they'd stolen the phone part of the gift he'd gotten from his parents for his 13th.

It was cold comfort Magnum wouldn't activate unless he was within a metre, yet... Blue eyes blinked back the tears as hands tightened. Felt the rubber fins of the case crumple.

"I need to get it back from Them." The case could be replaced. The phone -and what it meant- couldn't, and with that thought in mind, he stuffed the case rather awkwardly into a back pocket before resuming his search for clues that weren't the calendar.

"Better be something in here," he grumbled as he upended the bin- "Yes!"

He quickly smoothed out the newspaper, and the smile turned into a half-smirk. Letters had been carefully cut out, and, based on the context of the sentences, it didn't take long to work out what they spelt.

Beika hotel.

"But where in the hotel?" He muttered as he hastily uncrumpled everything else in the bin as if that'd offer up some clue, but nothing came of it outside old receipts and cursive scrawlings in Unovan he didn't have time to try to read.

He spoke it better, anyway. Not that it stopped him from pocketing it for later.

"Maybe-" Eyes flicked to the calendar and Conan could have laughed. Of course; the next clue would -had to- be there. Another exhale, this time to steady fraying nerves, and Conan was on his feet. He grabbed the chair, hauled it over, climbed up on it and started to examine the page with eyes and fingers.

Fingers felt the cut marks before his eyes saw them, and Conan grinned. So, they'd cut out a number from the Guìtuku page above, then torn off said page and taken it with them, given he hadn't found it in the bin.

"Heh. Idiots. Should have taken both pages," he muttered as he mentally backtracked the dates from the first of Xūtuku. It revealed the cut-out number was the 29th.

"Beika Hotel 29... I'll figure it out when I get there," Conan muttered as he landed with a thump, feet taking him out the door, down the steps and into the snow as fast as his legs could carry him. "First- Find the nearest 'Centre."

He didn't even stop to think, only raced along the footpath as he followed the tyre tracks, though soon enough they merged with other cars. But, it was enough that it'd at least lead him to a public teleporter (likely abra based, cowards), or even a bus stop. He'd rather the bus; he could get on it for free based on his age, while the teleporter required money, something he didn't have.

He'd have to pinch a wallet or beg for change. Not ideal, but he'd done it once before when he'd been an actual kid. Stealing one was better; it'd be returned at a later date. It also meant he could at least buy a scarf or hat; the last thing he wanted was for the Moore's to get involved.

Or worse yet, run into anyone who'd link him to them.

Either way, he needed to get to a Pokemon Centre first. Hopefully, he'd be able to grab Sherlock or better yet, Mycroft. Guns didn't do shit against ghost-types.

Yet... The man was willing to use a gun, and there was no guarantee he wouldn't shoot Conan first before he dispatched of the pokemon... But there was no other way. He couldn't not have a monster on him when it was the dead of winter, and he was heading into the unknown.

He'd have to risk it; two lives rested on it, and he had an hour to get to the hotel and figure out what 'Beika Hotel 29' meant.

With that ticking time limit in mind and a determined grit of teeth (and the taste of blood. Had he really bitten down that hard last night? Stupid question. Of course he had.), Conan pushed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Culture Notes:  
> Honorifics are considered archaic Yamatan (Japonic) and are very much not a staple of the general Orenji language. What they are is a somewhat complex holdover from where the Orenji people originally came from thousands of years ago. All you need to know, right now, is that they're commonly used to politely refer to people of a certain societal status and above, and that Shinichi is one of those people, while Ran isn't, yet.
> 
> Guìtuku = eighth month, while Xūtuku = ninth month.
> 
> I am aware that in canon it's Beika Hotel 30, but given the wider AU does not make use of the Gregorian calendar in any way (and has a slightly shorter year), I had to come up with something else.


End file.
